Month: April 2014

Warm water has rushed over my body,
Cleaned me of my sins and soaking
Virgin soil beneath my feet.
I have witnessed a standard
Leave nothing in return.
Shaking free the eggcorn
That grabs on tight to my chest.

Looking at my neat bundle of sticks
I collected while stepping over
Last year’s dead leaves, I realized
How stubborn I had been.
Yet, my every ounce of energy
Was focused as my petrified soul
Shook in an exposed, naked gift.

I am flying above your most beautiful memory;
A tiptoe Tinkerbell tapping lightly.
[The old fir who never asked Mother
To learn what a life could really mean.]
Like a thought that followed a lazy bee
On an endless journey through paradise;
An earmark upon pages of a three quarter full diary.
[Wild leaves and sweet salmon-berries
Living in unquestionable synchronicity.]
Falling into subconscious memory;
Movement stepping towards a place,
A place feeling just like home does on Saturday morning.
[No forgotten apple weeps alone,
Returning to Mother in a final commitment of
Love, Energy, and all things unmentionable.]

I was escaping a tear drop I had left beside the bed:
Tears of mixed emotions, like a fleeting moonlit night.
Stuck there; family man and the rock and roll band.
Jesus and his long haired hippies that didn’t wash their hands.

I played a mouth organ as I whispered at swans
Floating by the dock of this lost lagoon
Where my nimbly toes wash cotton balls free like fresh sheets.

I didn’t even turn around to that old familiar sound,
Lost in a pool of choreographed love letters
I’d heard in a song driving fast and straight down Paradise Road.

The things we used to do, the life I used to live.
An old loon used to sing the sun to sleep here every night.

I do not know where the rose petals fell;
Floating from my conscience as I lost sight of all.
Leaving an impression, like tail winds trickling
Into the evanescence of my breath.

But you who art sight! What cometh of thy history,
Lost into thy pool of still waters shaking.
I fell one warm, kind day – a moon’s length away,
Into the feelings of a warm blooded kiss.

My littered floorboards of mother natures spoil
Tickled my memory while I shook out my whiskers.
I laid there and laughed for the whiskey surged my sour,
And love settled down beside me, for I was delirious.

And you crawl out
To where we sing.
To which we carry high
Lofty goals,
Lifting our honour
With romantically inclined love,
Like sweet mother Gaia
Discarding Winter’s white cloak
To dawn
Spring’s rainbow.

I cannot follow my empty thoughts
Through the havens of a darkened loft.
I live forever better
With your heart upon my hearth,
Warming every thought
As darknesses cold, cold moon
Falls asleep to Gaia’s waking sun;
Sweet nectar caress.
Alive like our emotion
Captured in long walks
Through Spring’s blooming alleys.
A landscape ere enliven.

Like sweet hanging fruit
– Summer’s lush temptation –
This lover’s ever clutch.
Anxious for turning seasons
As the fresh air soaks my dewy brow.
Can you not also give to great excitement?
I laugh and run wild a while,
For what is satisfaction
Void a lover’s yearning heart?
What worth is Summer
Dry from Spring’s never drought.

Today there is a sign,
A window of an opening
Whistling softly,
Dragging at my conscience.
I acknowledge it.
I sit cross-legged
To experience its frequencies
Reverberate my lifeline.
This lesson is wordless,
Perched upon low hanging ledges
Of spring’s naked birch trees.
I imagine smoke
Wafting its sacred essence.
And my peace and gratitude
Flows mingling with the wind,
Vibrating to wordless words
Whistling through my conscience.

You drink your absence
Into forgotten memories,
And I write my sorrows
Into the sofa pillows.
And we serenade each other
With silent, obedient observance
To make us
A happy American family.
To wake us tomorrow,
Again, for work.

Don’t say those words.
Don’t whisper into the madness.
Don’t hold my hand when wind blows so strong.
For I am only a man,
A lonely man
Stepping lightly through long blades of grass
Soaked with morning dew.
Hanging on.
Lifting my love
That sits balanced on a finely pressed
Single sheet
Of stationary,
Manufactured with my namesake in mind
And imprinted with layered words
Of forgotten notes
Passed along in a time when I knew
Those words were necessary.